The Understudy
by TeenWriterKimba
Summary: Erik had always believed in using understudies. Perhaps even more so than he had ever realized. Erik/Meg.


I'm not entirely sure where this little story came from. Watching too many musicals lately I guess. I always thought the Phantom deserved a better ending than he got.

I don't own anything, ya da ya da. Enjoy!

The Understudy

None of the divas that Erik had ever seen pass through the Opera Populaire (and he had seen many) would allow the various musical directors to train an understudy for them. And Andre and Firmin, and Lefebvre before them, and whoever else came before him had never done anything about it. That, perhaps above all else the managers screwed up, irked him to no end. Erik had always believed in using understudies. Accidents, as he very well knew (and was often the cause of) did happen. He had seen more cancelled galas, refunded tickets, and pushed back performances than he cared to count. If the managers would simply take up the simple practice of training someone to fill in, he had considered, they could probably afford double his salary. Idiots.

When Belladonna, the possibly even more idiotic diva that preceded La Carlotta, walked out on Lefebvre for the fifth or sixth time, Erik had decided he had had enough. It was time for the Phantom to take matters into his own hands. He would simply train an understudy himself. It would take time, but soon enough he would make sure that such theatrics were no longer allowed to ruin the reputation of his opera house.

He did not like any of the girls currently in rotation for supporting roles. They could possibly fill in from time to time, but none were as versatile as he liked. Besides, many of them had gotten where they were through favors and charms rather than sheer talent. Such silly girls were useless to him. Many of the older chorus girls and ballerinas were possibilities, but in the end he decided that their long untrained voices would be too difficult to mold for his likeness.

And then the perfect pupil dropped herself right into his lap. Christine Daaé, brought to the opera by AntoinetteGiry, his once good friend and savior. Bringing the girl to his opera house, and not protesting when he decided to train her, was perhaps Antoinette's greatest gift to him. The girl's voice was untouched by any instructor, but had been kept safe by her father's care, bless his soul. Pure and true and beautiful. She would do. She would more than do. She would be his greatest creation, the understudy who would save the opera. She would be the one to make his music soar. It did not take long for her to become far more than a future understudy and pet project to him. After a few years, he very much wanted this caring, yet tortured creature to be _his_ leading lady as well.

Except that as in all great tragedies such as his life, it was not meant to be. He made her too good, molded her to be too perfect. She saved the gala and the opera house (for a time), but she left him behind in its ruins for another. Somewhere along the way, he had fallen in love with her, given her everything he had in hopes that she might love him back, but he was just an understudy in her life. At best, he was the supporting role, the wise mentor who gave her the gift of music. But he would never be anything more, no matter how hard he fought to be it. That was how he found himself now, a broken shell of a man, curled up in a deep dark hole somewhere deep beneath the destroyed opera house, waiting and hoping and praying for death.

But somewhere near, a small voice stirred him. "Monsieur le fantôme? Are you down here?"

Could it be Christine? Could it be that she had come back for him? He lifted his head, unexpected hope filling his aching chest.

But no. It was someone possibly even more unexpected. An angel. Or at least, she looked like an angel. Antoinette's daughter. What was her name…Marguerite…Meghan…in any case they called her Meg. What in the world was she doing? Could she be…looking for him?

But of course. He had all but forgotten. He very much believed in using understudies. Although he had not been training Meg as he had trained Christine, he had neither forbid Christine to speak of him to her friend, and had even encouraged her to share his training, thinking it might help reinforce it in her memory. Maybe, from time to time, he had left her notes like he left for her mother. When he caught her exploring his domain (she knew the opera house nearly as well as he did) he did not scare her off like he would have others, but rather gently led her back to the surface world where she belonged. She had known him long before Christine ever did, and perhaps better. At least she always understood what he really was. However unintentionally, he had been training an understudy for Christine, should she fail him. And of course, she had always been fated to fail. He had known from almost the very beginning that she was far too trusting and not at all trustworthy.

Perhaps training Meg had not been so unintentional.

She spotted him now, the light pace of her slippered feet increasing as she stumbled towards him, crouching down to his level. He could see that a small candle was responsible for her halo like glow. It was a little blinding after so much darkness for so long. He had probably been down here for days.

"Are you all right? I met with Christine earlier today. She said you were rather…unhinged when she left," she said gently. Who did this girl think she was, chasing after him?

"You should not have come," he rasped. His voice felt as though he had been screaming for a long time, which he probably had. He could not seem to remember. "I am nothing now. I am where I belong."

Her little face held much sadness for some reason he could not fathom. "No one belongs in such a place, monsieur," she whispered. She stood then, rather abruptly, and held out her hand to him. What in the world did she mean by such a gesture?

"Come, then," she commanded. "The time has come for someone to raise you to the light where you belong."

"But…who? Especially now, no one will want anything to do with me," he asked, unable to comprehend the offer she was making.

Her smile was gentle but sincere. "Me, of course. It's the least I can do for one who has done so much for me and my mother and…my sister over the years," she said. "You have been my teacher as well, whether you knew it or not."

He did not know if he should go with her. He did not know if it was fair to Christine's memory and his love for her. But this girl, this understudy for an understudy, was so sincere and so unexpected that he could not imagine doing anything else. He took her hand and allowed her to lead him away, to some unknown future over which he had no control. For the second time in his life, someone was giving him a chance he most certainly did not deserve to start over.

Perhaps Meg Giry was not such an understudy after all.


End file.
